Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves

New friend

"Anything to use as oven mitts," Sky nods. She closes the final step between them, close enough now that she can reach out and put one hand gingerly on Scott's uninjured shoulder. "Okay, we can work with that. I don't think I can pull it out on my own though. If I get a good, solid grip you think you can help me pull?"

Scott just nods. He looks younger than Sky had originally guessed, now that Sky is closer. More like Sky's' age, which sends another pang of sympathy through her, because that means he's just a kid, and werewolf or not no kid deserves to be pinned to a tree by a freaking arrow through his body.

Sky squeezes his shoulder lightly, just once, before switching her hand to the other side, wrapping her fingers around the arrow shaft as gently as possible. Scott winces anyway, grits his teeth when Sky brings her free hand up to hold Scott's shoulder back against the tree trunk, but he still dutifully twists his own fingers around Sky's' wrist.

"On three," Sky tells him. Scott nods again. "One, two, three."

Scott doesn't make a sound as they slowly, painstakingly pull the arrow back through his body. It's like trying to drag through tar, through sticky-thick molasses, and Sky has never been more impressed in her life with the literal grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it Scott's managing.

It pulls clean with a forceful tug that, if Scott didn't still have a firm hold on Sky's' wrist, would have thrown Sky back on her ass in a heartbeat. Scott doesn't let her fall, though he does immediately hunch away from the tree, curling in on himself until he's nearly doubled over.

The hole in his shoulder isn't healing.

"But actually, I thought you guys had super healing," Sky says, and even though the wording is flippant she can't hide the concern in her tone. She's  contemplating tossing the arrow as far as she can into the woods, like just the proximity of the kryptonite is affecting Scott, but Scott shakes his head before he even starts moving.